Phil Davies

Prelude:

For your sake, I hurry over land and water:
For your sake, I cross the desert and split the mountain in two,
And turn my face from all things,
Until the time I reach the place
Where I am alone with You.”_______________

Kill Me, My Faithful Friends

Kill me, my faithful friends,
For in my being killed is my life.
Love is that you remain standing
In front of your Beloved
When you are stripped of all your attributes;
Then His attributes become your qualities.
Between me and You, there is only me.
Take away the me, so only You remain

– Al Hallaj –

—

Hello There….

I have been working on a very large entry about Mary &amp; my recent trip south. I am kinda stuck, so there is a delay. I seem to have selective writers/creative block, so I am moving around the ‘scape so to speak. Working on The Invisible College, some new art (yay!), clearing out the house and garage, printing T-Shirts for Daniel Seibert at SageWisdom (check em out!) and putting time in on that this weekend made me realize how much I have missed printing. I should have some new shirts and other items soon(ish). I will keep ya alerted. We are having our post cards printed up, so as soon as I clean up both websites, you’ll see those soon as well I hope.

I have been writing again as well, and still, still spending tooooo much time on the computer and Face Book. Just slap me, please.

I have been in touch with a dear old friend from London days, Ley. He lives in Scotland now (originally from Durham) and it has been really, really sweet being in touch. Our conversation picked up 25 years after we last spoke (found him on FaceBook) and it is as if no time has passed, if you can ignore all of his children that came along, change in residence, us moving to the US, then up from L.A. to the NW, Rowan etc…

I asked him about mutual friends, and I found sadly many (well most) have died over the years. The one exception was Philip Davies, who was our best man at our wedding. Ley informed me that Phil, who is about 9 years older than I had cancer over this last summer. In my mind, I understand he is getting treatment, and there will be time to connect. Phil was/is a most amazing man. A gentleman, in all ways. Perhaps the most British person I have ever known in a London way. Phil’s mother was a nice girl from Golder’s Green, and his father was a GI… which meant Phil grew up in an orphanage. He connected with his mother eventually, and found out that he had a younger brother, and sister. They bonded to a degree, and he was ever affectionate of them when we talked. His father was dead when he finally found his family in the US…. Phil’s real family was his friends; Ley, Sherry, Mary, and many, many others over the years. If Phil was your friend, well you knew it.

I always felt a blessing and a giggle in his presence. An ardent Occultist, he was a member of the Golden Dawn when I met him, and well known in many circles in London. He has in turn been a fashion designer, cook, small business owner, you name it. He has a most creative mind. I can see him sitting at his table, looking out on the garden, rolling a spliff, and serving up tea and biscuits in one of his immaculate suits. He was, and is a good dear friend. I ask myself why I hesitated in getting in touch at times. Life, catches up, and you attend to what is in your face. That is the way of it.

I was planning on seeing him this next year, and then a message from Ley came today: Phil is in the hospital, he has taken a turn for the worse and he is coming home to hospice at his flat off of Stockwell Road. The day has been a swirl of wind, leaves, and memories and thoughts. I am hoping our card gets to him, or that he’ll be able to take a phone call.

Don’t hesitate in getting in touch with the ones you care about. Don’t put off doing what makes someone happy, and make sure they know that you care about and love them.

Time goes so swiftly, and then things change. Ley is in London taking care of Phil. Friendship and Love. We will see what happens. He could pull a miracle, he has before. The stories I could tell about the man!

Once upon a time a jackal and a hedgehog were good friends. One day they agreed to steal beans from a peasants underground stock. They discussed their plan of action. The hedgehog volunteered to go down into the thasraft to fill the sacks with beans. When the jackal pulled up the last sack, he said,  Goodbye, my friend.

The hedgehog felt betrayed. How can you leave me in this trap? he asked.

Right now its not so bad, the jackal replied. But just wait until tomorrow morning when the peasant arrives and finds you!

The hedgehog had to think fast to find a way out. All right, my friend, he told the jackal in a pitiful tone. Please take one sack along to my children.

The hedgehog filled up the sack, then dived into it himself, hiding under the beans. The jackal pulled the heavy sack out and then left.

On the road, the hedgehog put out his head and started whistling. The jackal thought it was the peasant approaching and ran away fast. When he reached the hedgehogs children, he told them the peasant had caught their father. But before he had even finished his sentence, the hedgehog jumped out laughing. Thank God, said the hedgehog, now I know you for what you are!

Sometime later, they agreed to go hunting together. They came across a herd of sheep. The hedgehog was assigned to keep the shepherd busy while the jackal snatched a sheep and ran away with it. When the hedgehog was sure the jackal had escaped, he followed him.

When they reached a valley, they slaughtered the sheep and took off the skin. Suddenly, the hedgehog shouted, The shepherd is coming!

Frightened, the jackal ran away and disappeared from sight. The hedgehog took the entire sheep and went home with it.

Later, the hedgehog was making a meal for his children. The jackal smelled it cooking and asked him for a bowl. When he had tasted it, he said, Oh, how delicious it is! It tastes rich. Where did you get the fat?

I pulled it from my armpits, replied the hedgehog. To convince the jackal, he had hidden a piece of sheeps fat under his armpits and used it to give him a demonstration.

The jackal went away and tried the trick again and again. Every day he tried taking fat from his armpits until it became very painful. Then he started to bleed and died.

_______________

Rumi Poems…

Oh, if a tree could wander
and move with foot and wings!
It would not suffer the axe blows
and not the pain of saws!
For would the sun not wander
away in every night ?
How could at every morning
the world be lighted up?
And if the ocean’s water
would not rise to the sky,
How would the plants be quickened
by streams and gentle rain?
The drop that left its homeland,
the sea, and then returned ?
It found an oyster waiting
and grew into a pearl.
Did Yusaf not leave his father,
in grief and tears and despair?
Did he not, by such a journey,
gain kingdom and fortune wide?
Did not the Prophet travel
to far Medina, friend?
And there he found a new kingdom
and ruled a hundred lands.
You lack a foot to travel?
Then journey into yourself!
And like a mine of rubies
receive the sunbeams? print!
Out of yourself ? such a journey
will lead you to your self,
It leads to transformation
of dust into pure gold!
—

Whoever Brought Me Here, Will Have To Take Me Home.

All day I think about it, then at night I say it.
Where did I come from, and what am I supposed to be doing?
I have no idea.
My soul is from elsewhere, I’m sure of that,
and I intend to end up there.
This drunkenness began in some other tavern.
When I get back around to that place,
I’ll be completely sober. Meanwhile,
I’m like a bird from another continent, sitting in this aviary.
The day is coming when I fly off,
but who is it now in my ear who hears my voice?
Who says words with my mouth?
Who looks out with my eyes? What is the soul?
I cannot stop asking.
If I could taste one sip of an answer,
I could break out of this prison for drunks.
I didn’t come here of my own accord, and I can’t leave that way.
Whoever brought me here, will have to take me home.
This poetry. I never know what I’m going to say.
I don’t plan it.
When I’m outside the saying of it,
I get very quiet and rarely speak at all.—

It is your turn now

It is your turn now,
you waited, you were patient.
The time has come,
for us to polish you.
We will transform your inner pearl
into a house of fire.
You’re a gold mine.
Did you know that,
hidden in the dirt of the earth?
It is your turn now,
to be placed in fire.
Let us cremate your impurities.
—
This World Which Is Made of Our Love for Emptiness

Praise to the emptiness that blanks out existence. Existence:
This place made from our love for that emptiness!
Yet somehow comes emptiness,
this existence goes.
Praise to that happening, over and over!
For years I pulled my own existence out of emptiness.
Then one swoop, one swing of the arm,
that work is over.
Free of who I was, free of presence, free of dangerous fear, hope,
free of mountainous wanting.
The here-and-now mountain is a tiny piece of a piece of straw
blown off into emptiness.
These words I’m saying so much begin to lose meaning:
Existence, emptiness, mountain, straw:
Words and what they try to say swept
out the window, down the slant of the roof.______________________

Nakhla by Cheikha Rimitti

______________________ Coda:

I am the One Whom I Love
I am the One whom I love, and the One whom I love is myself.
We are two souls incarnated in one body;
if you see me, you see Him,
if you see Him, you see us.
—
Your spirit is mingled with mine
as wine is mixed with water;
whatever touches you touches me.
In all the stations of the soul you are I.